


Ruminations on Sainthood, and Qualifications Thereof

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Blind Character, Canon typical body horror, Feelings, M/M, Rumination, blowjob, who killed markiplier spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 14:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15776112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Darkiplier and the Host ruminate on various things. Among other things.





	Ruminations on Sainthood, and Qualifications Thereof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HappyKonny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyKonny/gifts).



> See if you can catch the Hidden Almanac reference!

Darkiplier was a nasty piece of work.

Everyone knew that.

Everyone knew that, partially because that was just what he _did_ \- he was unpleasant, because that was what everyone expected of him, and who was he, if not someone who was willing to fulfill expectations?

There was... well, not a hierarchy, per se, but people knew enough about Dark that they knew he could take it.

What could he take?

Well, anything.

He could take as good as he got as well, which was probably part of the appeal - you went to Dark when when you wanted to get hammered into a mattress, or when you wanted to get the shit kicked out of you.

You went to Dark when you wanted to fuck someone without having to worry about hurting them, since Dark was... sort of, kind of dead.

Well.

Dark was on his back right now.

Dark was on his back right now, and he was snarling, his hands in Mark's shoulders, digging his nails in, as Mark fucked him.

Mark fucked him like it was the end of the world, and it was... it was rough, and it was almost on this side of uncomfortable, except it also _wasn't_ , because holy hell, Mark was doing things with his hips that was making Dark's eyes roll back in his head.

Mark's hands were around Dark's throat, squeezing, and that would have been scary in a different circumstance, but it was pretty hot.

All of this was... well, it was intense, but Dark kind of thrived on intensity.

Some of that had to do with the sort of kind of being dead - he needed... well, something. 

It took a lot of everything to get him going, and to keep him going. 

His heart - such as he had one - was beating in his ears, and his cock was hard, pressed between the two of them.

Mark was mumbling something, although Dark couldn't really make it out, except that it was full of mumbling, there were obscenities mixed into it, and it was altogether just... a jumble of arousal, of obscenity, of what might have been rage.

Dark took it, and he raked his nails down Mark's back, just to feel Mark's cock twitch inside of him, just so that he could feel Mark's back arch, so that he could feel the wetness under his fingers, as he drew blood.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Dark," Mark snarled, and he squeezed Dark's throat again, harder, hard enough to make Dark's eyes flutter, wriggling on the dick that was practically splitting him in half.

"He's no there," Dark said, and he gave a rough, wheezing laugh.

"Oh my god," said Mark, and he slammed his hips forward especially hard.

Dark groaned, a long, deep sound, squeezing down on Mark intentionally, and Mark groaned as well, pressing his forehead against Dark's, and he was kissing Dark, except it wasn't... really a kiss, it was more like a prolonged bite.

A little bit of memory hit Dark in the back of the head, from that one television show - _"It's like kissing, but there's a winner,"_ and then Mark was groaning again, and he actually was biting Dark, right on the shoulder, and he was sheathing himself fully inside of Dark, his whole body going tense, hard, stiff.

He was cumming inside of Dark, his cock pulsing and twitching, filling Dark up with his cum.

God, it was... it was pretty fucking gross. 

It was sticky, it was... gooey, it was going to drip out of Dark, roll down his leg, leave him sticky, leave him gross.

It was one of the glories of sex, honestly.

The sheer, visceral disgustingness of it.

It was one of the reasons that Dark put up with it in the first place.

That, and the fact that he just... liked the company.

He didn't know why, but it scratched some strange itch in his head.

He was still shaking, his toes curling, his head tilting back, his mouth open as he panted.

Mark was flopped on top of him, his face in Dark's neck, and he was breathing heavily, humid against Dark's clammy skin.

Dark wasn't as warm as humans, although he did get warmed up with sex.

He could, in theory, warm himself up if he needed to, but why would he need to?

He might have been lending himself out as a fucktoy, but why not have some fun with it?

Even if said fun was just teasing people, in one way or another.

He shuddered, and then he groaned, as Mark pulled out of him, slowly, carefully, leaving behind a trail of slime.

"That was... that was really good," said Mark, and he was planting, his whole face red and dripping with sweat.

"Happy to be of service," said Dark, and he kept his voice dry, cutting enough to etch metal.

Mark snorted, and he tucked a piece of sweaty hair behind his ear, groping around for a tissue, then wiping his cock off with it.

"You seem to be in a mood," said Mark.

"I'll be fine," said Dark, making a dismissive noise, and then he was rolling over onto his belly on the bed, stretching.

More of Mark's cum smeared, dripping down across his thigh, and he sighed again, pressing his face into the pillow.

"Right," said Mark, and he cleared his throat.

He was always awkward at this point, right after sex.

Dark rolled his eyes into the pillow, and he made a big show of relaxing, as if he was falling asleep.

That seemed to satisfy Mark, at least; Dark heard the door open, then close, and then he was alone.

Okay.

That was better.

That was much better.

Dark rolled back onto his back, and he slid his hand between his legs, squeezing his cock, going from the root to the head, then back.

He jerked himself off quickly, efficiently, and he came across his own belly, his ass full of Mark's cum.

He was shaking, his toes curling in the sheets, and he was panting like he'd run a race.

It would have been nice for Mark to offer to get him off, but, well....

The other egos were more than a little bit intimidated by him, and he got it, to a certain extent.

He was just... there.

He was the shadow in the corner of your eye, the thing that sent the deep, visceral fear to the base of the gut.

He was as close to an eldritch abomination as a human being could get, even if he wasn't... exactly human.

Still.

A little bit of a reach around (metaphorical or otherwise) now and then wouldn't have gone unappreciated.

He sighed, sprawled out on his back, covered in cum, and he flung an arm across his eyes, blocking out the light.

He'd catch some sleep, and then he'd feel better for it.

* * * 

Wilford Warfstache was a surprisingly gentle lover.

For all that he was crazier than a shithouse rat, he was very delicate, as he fucked the Host's throat.

The Host was enjoying it - the narration had gone more or less quiet, or maybe just repetitive - "and then he thrust, and then he thrust again, and then he thrust again, adjusting his hips to fix the angle" - but... it was restive, in a weird way.

A lot of the egos came to him, for one reason or another.

He suspected because he was usually down for whatever, whenever.

It wasn't like he did much these days, other than observe... well, everything, and he could be interrupted from that.

There was something weirdly relaxing about it, honestly.

He was just a mouth, providing something for Wilford to fuck.

Wilford was crooning, and his fingers were tangled in the Host's hair, tugging on it gently.

The Host did things with his tongue - they were complicated things, things that would make Wilford feel very good, because it was nice to make Wilford feel good.

Fucked if he knew why, really - maybe it was some kind of leftover from when he still thought that he was human, although he didn't have a lot of those.

He sucked - he sucked hard enough that he drooled down his chin, he bobbed his head, and then Wilford was grabbing his hair, pulling it hard enough to make the Host moan, and maybe he was a bit worked up himself.

He liked sucking cock, he liked providing pleasure.

Especially to Wilford, who was pretty easy to please, all things considered.

He kept his mouth on Wilford's cock, and he let his face be fucked, let himself be carried away in the sweetness of it.

He could feel the very echo of Wilford's pleasure - he could always feel a tiny bit of what it was he was narrating, in ways that were complicated and strange, because he didn't entirely understand how they worked, except they were _good_.

Wilford was mumbling incoherently, but, well... Wilford was never really coherent to begin with.

Not that the Host cared too much.

It was refreshing, in a weird way - having someone who did things in an erratic way changed the narration up, which always made life a bit less dull.

Or maybe he was overthinking it a bit.

There wasn't a lot for him to think about, when he was just... on his knees, getting his face fucked.

He swallowed around the cock in his mouth, still flickering his tongue, and then Wilford's knees were going weak, his hands tightening, and Wilford was pulling his cock out of the Host's mouth, and he was cumming across the Host's face.

Which cleared the Host's mouth, and the Host was mumbling again.

"Wad after wad splashes onto the Host's face, a veritable load, dripping down the Host's face, to leave wet spots in the Host's shirt, to soak into the bandage covering the Host's eyes."

Oh, ew.

He was going to have to wash the bandage again.

Urgh.

At least he had other bandages.

"Good job," said Wilford, and then he was patting the Host on the top of the head, and he was... just gone.

That was a thing that Wilford could just do, which could be a tad _annoying_ sometimes, since... well, the Host would have at least appreciated an offer to help him clean his face off.

Oh well.

The Host stood up, still mumbling to himself, making his way towards the bathroom.

He was hard, in a half hearted sort of way - he liked sucking cock, it was true, but some of his annoyance cut through his arousal.

His heart was beating very fast in his head, and it was almost drowning out his narration.

When he hit the bathroom, he carefully took off the bandage, running it under the hot water, and then he was leaning forward, carefully washing his face off.

The cum was still runny, and it came off easily enough, sluicing down the drain.

It could be strange, sometimes - he couldn't _see_ things, per se, but he knew they were there.

He knew they were happening, even if he didn't know how he could describe it.

If he wanted to, he could find the words to describe everything in this bathroom, down to the color of the slivers of soap. 

But he didn't know what they looked like, not really.

He didn't really remember what it was that the world looked like anymore.

Not that he was particularly bothered, since... well, it was better than the alternative.

He didn't want to think of the alternative.

It was probably a little bit funny to the other egos, just how _soft_ Wilford could be, come to think of it.

They were all a little bit afraid of Wilford.

Not that the Host could blame them.

The Host, with his extra-sensory perception, could sense even _more_ about him than they could, and it was... well, to be blunt, it was unsettling.

But everyone had some kind of darkness, in the backs of their minds, and it wasn't as if the Host was going to tell everyone about everyone else's darkness. 

He could see into their very souls, and really, whose soul could survive that kind of plumbing?

He knew his own darkness, but then again, don’t we all?

He must have been in a contemplative mood, if he was doing this much navel gazing.

The Host sighed, and he patted his face dry, carefully.

His eyes were still seeping blood, slowly.

He’d read a myth somewhere, about a man who saw the truth no matter what he did, and ended up gouging his eyes out just to make it stop. 

And then they would grow back, and he’d start it up again, which was its own mess, wasn’t it?

His eyes didn’t exactly… heal, per se, but they didn’t get any worse, and they didn’t grow back.

That was the important part.

He wrapped his now clean bandage around his face, and the dampness of it was nice against his temples.

It was calming, in a strange way.

He yawned, wide enough that his jaw cracked, and then he made his way towards his room.

He was tired, and his jaw was more than a little sore.

… it would have been nice for Wilford to stick around a little bit, maybe clean his face off.

It would be nice for one of the other egos to possibly help him get off sometime, or maybe just keep him company, but… eh.

He knew that he gave everyone the heebie jeebies (except for Wilford, who seemed un-heebie jeebie-able), and he knew that it was probably for the best that he more or less kept to himself.

He would go back to his room, and he would masturbate.

Or he wouldn’t masturbate, and he’d just lie in his bed, reciting the history of the wood that made up the bed, or something similar. 

He didn’t have a very exciting life, but at least it was his.

* * *

Dark was not expecting to run into the Host in the kitchen. 

Truthfully, Dark didn’t strictly… _need_ to be in the kitchen either.

Dark didn’t need to eat the way human beings did, what with the fact that he wasn’t exactly alive.

Still. 

He liked food.

He was someone who believed in doing things that felt good - it was one reason why he let himself be used as a fuck toy.

There was something viscerally satisfying about just being a hole for someone to put their cock in.

He’d have enjoyed putting his cock in someone, but that only really worked out when someone wanted the equivalent of a living dildo, and Dark found that unbearably boring.

… Dark found most things that didn’t line up exactly with what he wanted unbearably boring.

People had used the description “patient as the grave,” but Dark had lost most of his patience, since his death.

(Their deaths? It had always been a complicated one).

But there was the Host, mumbling to himself as he drank a cup of coffee.

The Host’s sightless, bandaged face turned towards Dark, and Dark caught bits of his own name, mixed in with the narration.

There was a pause, and then the Host was actually speaking, at a register and volume that Dark could more or less understand. 

“Can I ask a question?”

“You just did,” said Dark, as he poured himself a cup of coffee as well - he might not have needed much in the way of caffeine or nutrients, but there was something about the bitterness of coffee that appealed to him.

Maybe it was just the small bit of his brain that still wanted some kind of poetic… something.

“Why do you let them use you?”

“Hm?”

Dark took a sip of his coffee.

“Why do you let them use you? Why don’t you use them?”

Dark shrugged.

“Because I get some enjoyment out of it,” he said, which _was_ true, although it wasn’t… all of the truth.

“There are other reasons,” said the Host, and his expression was bland.

It was enough to actually annoy Dark, which was a bit of a miracle.

Something about the Host got under Dark’s skin, although he wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was the constant narration - something about all of that knowledge, all mixed up.

A lot of them weren’t actually human, in any sense of the word, but Wilford was… crazy, the kind of crazy that you could smell.

The Host had been… something like human, at some point, but wasn’t anymore. 

Dark wasn’t human… exactly, but it was a different flavor.

They had all of them been human at one point, which made it stranger. 

“Well, yes, but you know them already,” said Dark. “Why do you need to hear me say them?”

“It’s… simpler that way,” said the Host. “When I hear something, or read it, it’s simpler than if it just… drops into my mind.”

“Why?”

“Because I both know and don’t know at the same time,” said the Host.

“... what?”

“I know it, because I have the perception of it,” said the Host, in a calm even voice. “But at the same time, I don’t, because I haven’t learned it. I know it because I know it, but it’s… uncomfortable.”

Dark nodded as if he understood.

He didn’t, not really, but sometimes these sorts of things didn’t make sense. 

After all, the various things that would let him free were… complicated.

A different sort of complicated.

“If I have the memory of learning this, then I know how I have it, which makes it… easier, somehow.”

The Host shrugged, and Dark didn’t entirely understand what it was that the Host’s face was doing, but still.

“Going to movies must be fun for you,” Dark said, his voice sardonic.

The Host made a noise that could be interpreted as amusement.

“Something like that, yes,” said the Host. 

“So why do you let them use you?”

“Hm?”

“You asked me,” said Dark. “So now I’m asking you.”

“You didn’t fully answer my question,” said the Host. 

“Well, no, but that’s because I’m not entirely sure how to,” said Dark, with a bit of candidness that he didn’t realize he was capable of. “I don’t always know why I do something, except I just like doing it.”

“It could be argued,” said the Host, “that you liking to do it is enough reason for you to do it.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sure if I’d argue it, though,” said the Host. “I think you find some fulfillment out of it. Maybe it offers some kind of satisfaction to you, since you’re lonely.”

“I’m not exactly lonely,” said Dark, which was true.

It was.. It was complicated.

“Does it remind you of who you used to be?”

It was such a polite inquiry, but Dark still wanted to punch the Host, just a bit.

A little bit of memory, from his shared consciousness - _”You wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses, would ya?”_ \- although it wasn’t exactly pertinent to the current situation.

It wasn’t like the Host had glasses.

In a way, he was worse. 

“So why do you do it?”

The Host took a long, slow sip of his water, his expression thoughtful. 

“Because I like the company,” he said at last, and even without any kind of extrasensory perception, Dark could tell that the Host wasn’t exactly telling the truth. 

“Why else?”

“I like the contact,” said the Host. “I also like knowing that other people get some kind of satisfaction from some kind of contact. I know that I cannot, as myself, offer much in the way of companionship, what with one thing and another.”

“One thing and another?”

“I cut my eyes out of my own head,” said the Host, and he said it in such a calm, measured tone that it gave Dark a little shiver.

There was, admittedly, something more than a little bit chilling about that.

Someone who was willing to mutilate themselves like that… well.

It was more than a little bit unsettling.

“There is also the fact that I almost always know when someone is going to do something, and also to know why they are going to do it,” said the Host. “I know that it can be… off putting, especially if I’m trying to reach out to someone as myself, versus as what services I can provide them.”

“What services you can provide them,” Dark repeated. “That makes it sounds like you’re providing long distance phone service, or maybe cable.”

“Do people even buy long distance plans anymore?”

“You know, I don’t know,” said Dark. “Why don’t you know that?”

“I know about people,” said the Host. “I know about what’s happening. I don’t always know… background information.”

“Right,” said Dark, because that made some sort of sense.

He took a slug of his coffee, and found it hot and bitter, a satisfying jolt of heat that rolled through him, sliding down his stomach, leaving his skin prickling.

He liked having a body, in spite of everything.

It did things that he liked, most of the time.

He was loose, comfortable, and he… wasn’t sure what to do with it, exactly, except that in some ways it was just… alright.

Things, in this moment, were alright. 

Go figure.

“Do you ever wish for things?”

The Host’s voice was borderline… wistful, which wasn’t expected.

Dark shrugged.

“I suppose,” he said. 

“I sometimes wish that… I wish that I was treated as more like a lover,” said the Host.

“Why don’t you just say something, then?”

It was the Host’s turn to shrug.

“It doesn’t come up,” he said, in a tone that suggested that it wouldn’t come up, either.

“Right,” said Dark. “Well, you can always ask.”

“Why don’t you ever come to me?”

It was Dark’s turn to shrug.

“I didn’t think that you were interested in what it was that I was offering,” said Dark. 

Wow, they were dancing around the subject. There wasn’t really a polite way to say “I don’t think you’d like to fuck me violent,” was there?

More the pity.

“There are words like that in German,” said the Host, and... goddamnit.

That was one reason why so many people tended to avoid the Host, at least a little bit.

It was creepy, when he did that.

Having someone able to read your thoughts like that was just… eerie.

“Well,” said Dark, “should you want some sort of company, I’m… available, unless I’m otherwise occupied.”

“Right,” said the Host.

There was an awkward silence, and then Dark drained the entirety of his coffee in one long pull, and he swallowed, the heat almost uncomfortably warm on his tongue, sliding down his gut.

That was good.

That was… satisfying.

He stood up, put his mug in the sink, and then made his way out of the kitchen.

* * *

The Host sat in the kitchen, and he thought.

He thought about a lot, truth be told, and he kept up the narration, his lips moving in thought, the words rolling out of him like a trickle of water.

Dark always left the Host faintly discombobulated.

He was just… well, he was odd.

He was more than a bit odd.

He was, to some small extent, two seperate people while _also_ being one person, which made things… confusing.

The Host had it all mixed up in his head, and he did do his best to keep it straight, but, well… the two trains of thought got mixed up sometimes.

In a weird way, it was restful.

It wasn’t the erratic madness of Wilford, which tended to leave the Host on edge - not that he would complain too hard, because that was exciting in its own way.

He was fond of all of his fellow egos, although he supposed some of that was a given.

When you share a face with someone, you end up with some kind of fondness. 

Or at least a lack of homicidal urges.

Maybe that was why Wilford hadn’t killed all of them in a fit of pique.

… no, that wasn’t fair towards Wilford.

He didn’t kill people in fits of pique.

The madness that ate him from the inside out wasn’t… exactly what made him homicidal. 

The Host didn’t entirely understand all of it, truthfully, but a lot of it was related to time, and how linear (or lack thereof) Wilford was in time.

The Host took another sip of his coffee, and he tasted the history behind it - tasted each of the beans, individually, tasted where they had been grown, who had harvested them.

If he wanted to - if he _really_ wanted to, he could have gone a lot deeper - he could have traced it down to the bits of dirt in each plant.

Although that was a bit… much. 

More than a bit much.

He’d done that a few times, mostly to see if he could, and he always came back to himself slowly, confused, almost lost.

He was afraid he’d lose some piece of himself the next time he did that.

So he narrated around him, drinking his coffee.

* * * 

Wilford came to visit Dark later that day.

Dark was sprawled out on his bed, reading, and then Wilford was just… there, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hello, old friend,” said Dark, and his voice was almost fond.

“Hello,” said Wilford, and he smiled.

His mustache was very pink, and his face was almost as pink. 

“What can I do for you?”

“You can do a great many things for me,” said Wilford, and now he was grinning, his expression downright lecherous.

Wilford had a good face for lecherous - it was kind of funny, really.

They all had the same face, and yet they all managed to do so many different things with it. 

They all managed to be individuals, even when they all looked so very much alike.

“Any particular reason you’re visiting me now?”

Dark put his book to the side, sitting up some more, crossing his legs at the ankles, folding his arms across his chest.

“I thought you might like some company,” said Wilford. 

“That was altruistic of you,” Dark said, his tone mild.

“I do my best,” Wilford demurred, and then he was scooting closer, so that they were hip to hip, and he was putting his hand on Dark’s thigh. “Do you know what I want more than anything else in the world?”

_To have your mind back,_ was on the tip of Dark’s tongue, but he didn’t say it.

“What would you like more than anything else in the world?”

“I’d like to suck your cock,” said Wilford. 

“Would you, now?”

This was a bit of a new one - mostly, people didn’t want to give Dark pleasure, although sometimes there was an offer.

It wasn’t as if Dark was going to complain about it too hard - who was he to turn down a freely offered blowjob, after all. 

But still….

“Is there something else you’d like?”

“No,” said Wilford. “The thing I want more than anything in the world right now is to have a nice, thick piece of meat in my mouth.”

“When you put it like that, I worry that you’re going to try to emasculate me,” Dark said, and he laughed, only a little bit unsteadily.

There was something… old here, something complicated.

Sometimes, Wilford seemed to remember who it was he had been, before… all of that.

He became downright affectionate in those moments, which was downright unsettling.

It was painful, and it was… it wasn’t entirely something that Dark knew how to deal with, although he did his best.

That was all that someone could ask for, wasn’t it?

Or maybe he was navel gazing.

But then Wilford was lunging forward, and he was kissing Dark.

It was a hard, almost desperate kiss, but Dark took it, his hands on Wilford’s face.

Some of Dark remembered this - remembered kissing Wilford, remembered what it felt like to press close to him, before his mustache was pink.

Remembered a good many things, truth be told, complicated, painful things, things that he didn’t entirely want to remember. 

He kissed Wilford back, and maybe Wilford could taste his regret or… something, or maybe Wilford wanted more of whatever it was, because his tongue went deeper into Dark’s mouth, sliding along Dark’s own tongue, tracing over Dark’s teeth, as Dark kissed him back, tried to gentle that.

Dark, trying to get someone else to be gentle.

Fancy that, huh?

And then Wilford was climbing on top of Dark, his hands in Dark’s hair, and he was forcing Dark’s head back, as he kept his tongue in Dark’s mouth, beginning to roll his hips.

Fuck, but Wilford was just… desperate.

The kind of desperate that was honestly kind of terrifying. 

Nobody likes to feel like they’re going to be eaten alive, especially not by an old friend gone made with… who knew what.

Wilford was groping at the the front of Dark’s pants, and then he was yanking at Dark’s tie, pulling on it, pulling hard enough that Dark’s breathing was beginning to be constricted, just a bit.

That… that hurt.

That was going to leave a mark, especially the way that he was being throttled, but god, it was good, in some deep, complicated way, a way that he didn’t want to approach too hard.

He was shaking.

Dark was shaking, and his hands were going to Wilford’s hips, holding Wilford closer, and then Wilford was biting his neck, still clutching at the tie, yanking on it hard enough that… okay, yeah, that hurt.

That hurt a lot, this all hurt a lot.

Having Wilford like this in the first place hurt a lot.

So much kissing, wet and sloppy and desperate, as if Wilford was going to eat him alive, as his air supply got low, and then Wilford was letting go, Wilford was… kissing lower, Wilford was _ripping_ Dark’s shirt open, the buttons spraying off in different directions, which was… not good, for fuck sake.

But Wilford’s expression was borderline manic, as he shoved Dark’s pants down, spread them open wider, and he was nuzzling his face into Dark’s crotch, nuzzling into it, mouthing roughly at Dark’s cock through the thin fabric of Dark’s pants.

He undid Dark’s buttons, then shoved the waistband down, and... there was Dark’s cock.

Dark’s cock, springing up, pressing against Dark’s belly now, over the open shirt.

Wilford descended down onto Dark’s cock, wrapping his mouth around it, sucking on it hard enough that Dark’s hips rolled forward, and he swore.

This was… this was very much a blowjob for Wilford.

This was Wilford wanting something cock shaped in his mouth, and approaching Dark for it, maybe out of some old fragment of memory.

Dark groaned, but put his hands behind his head, clutching at his own hair, rolling his hips forward.

God, it was… thick.

It was hot.

His cock was throbbing like a broken tooth, and it was intense enough that he almost didn’t feel the pang of regret, when Wilford’s eyes met his own, and were practically empty.

He smiled at Wilford in what he hoped was an encouraging manner - he wasn’t the best at encouraging these days, what with one thing and another - and then he swore again, as Wilford descended back down on it, deepthroating.

It was _good_ \- it was very good, it was a level of good that shouldn’t have been possible, except it was, it was perfect.

Wilford’s mouth felt the same way that Dark always remembered, his throat like velvet, his tongue flickering along the thick vein on the underside.

Dark moaned, and then his hands were on Wilford’s head, tangling in the hair, holding WIlford in place as he fucked up into Wilford’s mouth, the way he had all those years ago.

Wilford gagged and coughed, but he was moaning, and Wilford’s shoulder was moving in a way that pretty clearly indicated that he was jerking off.

Dark moaned again, from the knowledge, from the memory, from the sensations, from the sight.

He was going to cum down Wilford’s throat, and then Wilford would vanish, and it would be… it would be something.

But for now - for this moment - it was perfect.

He held on, still grinding, still trying to get that much closer to his orgasm, and he was beginning to shake, his legs going hard and solid, his thighs tensing up.

He was going to cum.

He was so hard, so… intense, and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t do anything but take the pleasure, let it wash over him like so much water.

He came down Wilford’s throat, and he was shaking as he did it, his hips jerking forward, his cock twitching like a tuning fork.

Wilford swallowed it down, all of it, and then he grinned at Dark, and just… vanished, leaving Dark sitting there, his cock wet and out, still pulsing from the aftershocks.

He was shaking, just a little bit. 

Um.

Dark sighed, a deep, hard sigh, and he leaned back, his head against the wall.

Okay.

This would… this would be absolutely find. 

* * * 

The Host was walking by Dark’s door when he heard the narration… change.

It changed rather abruptly, which was a bit confusing, but usually meant that Wilford was involved, since Wilford was always a bit of a confusing case.

But then it was just Dark, and Dark was feeling… something.

The Host wasn’t sure what it was, but… lacking anything else to do, he knocked on the door.

There wasn’t an answer, so the Host just walked in.

He probably should have waited for the door to be opened, honestly, but the egos weren’t the best at boundaries, especially when it came with each other.

Especially the Host, since he knew everything (to a certain extent) anyway. 

Dark was… sitting on the bed, his cock out.

He was shaking, just a little bit, and he looked as close to feeling some kind of human emotion as the Host had ever seen him.

“Why are you here?”

Dark leaned back, and he looked like he was going to yell at the Host.

“Because I thought you could use some company,” said the Host.

Something passed across Dark’s face.

It would have been sorrow, on someone else.

On Dark, it was… well, honestly hard to tell.

“Since when do you care about me needing company?”

The Host closed the door behind himself, and he sat on the edge of the bed.

He gave Dark what he hoped was a sympathetic look, although it was hard to give a proper sympathetic look while lacking eyes.

The Host shrugged.

“Because if we don’t look out for each other, who will?”

Dark opened his mouth to argue about it… and then closed it.

The Host could see the arguments racing across Dark’s mind, but none of them stuck.

“Fair enough,” was all he said. 

“So what do you need?”

“I don’t know,” Dark said, in a rare moment of honesty. 

“Would you like to watch a movie with me?”

“You can’t see the movie,” said Dark. “Why would you want to watch a movie?”

“Because I can still hear the dialogue,” said the Host. “There’s something relaxing about it.”

“Oh,” said Dark.

The both of them were obviously tripping over their words, their feelings, their… something. 

Dark seemed faintly surprised to have any kinds of feelings, but then again, Dark was a bit of an odd one.

… they were all “odd ones” as far as regular human beings went, admittedly.

“So what kind of movie would you like?”

“Since you’re the guest,” said Dark, and he was clearly bristling, at least a bit, “why don’t you choose?”

“Alright,” said the Host, and he leaned back on the pillow, listening to the various sounds of someone getting a movie set up, then setting it up.

Dark was on edge.

Dark was very on edge, to an extent that some of the Host’s no doubt smarter instincts were telling him to run.

Those instincts didn’t kick in that often - in a way, it was kind of impressive.

But he stayed here, breathing slowly, carefully, and he listened.

Not to the movie, but to Dark.

To Dark’s breathing, Dark’s heartbeat (inasmuch as he had one), Dark’s thoughts racing like a whole colony of insects.

“I miss him,” Dark said finally.

“Do you?”

“I mean… sort of,” said Dark, and he sounded legitimately… something.

It was sincerity, even if the Host couldn’t pin down what kind of sincerity it was.

"I miss who he... was," said Dark. "Or maybe who I was."

The Host made a vague "go on" motion.

But Dark went quiet.

The Host could hear Dark's thoughts racing, could hear the undercurrent of mounting panic, and that in and of itself was an interesting idea, since Dark was... Dark tried very hard not to actually prove that he had actual emotions.

But Dark was having some kind of feelings.

The Host reached out, nervous in spite of himself, and he patted Dark on the leg.

Dark sighed, and he leaned back into his pillows.

"How about I suck you off?"

"Um?"

The Host hadn't exactly... expected that, although he wasn't sure what it was that he had expected.

... not _that_.

"I said," said Dark, and now he was turning around, looking the Host in the face (the Host could feel Dark's eyes on the bandages over his eyes), "how about I suck you off?"

There were a lot of words that Dark wasn't saying, and the Host could _almost_ hear them.

"Why?"

"You're doing me a favor," said Dark, and it was clear that he was lying now, but... fuck it. "You're doing me a favor, so I'll do you a favor."

"If it would make you happy, you can do it," said the Host.

He did like the idea of an orgasm, admittedly, but... well, an orgasm one way versus another.

Hmm.

"It would make me _very_ happy," said Dark, and now he was definitely laying it on a bit thick.

He was clearly in some kind of mood, and who was the Host to judge someone for wanting to do something to shut up the inside of their head?

Fuck knew the Host had done as much.

"So go for it," said the Host, and he leaned back, letting himself go lazy, almost passive.

* * *

Dark was sitting in the Host's lap, and he was kissing the Host.

He was kissing the Host wet and hot and heavy, his tongue inside of the Host's mouth, his fingers sliding through the Host's hair, his back arching, pressing their chests together.

God, the Host was warm, and the bandages over his face was scratchy against the Dark's own face.

He kissed the Host, and he rolled his hips forward, grinding his ass against the Host's cock.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

Dark's voice was rough, almost breathy, right up against the Host's lips.

"I thought you wanted to suck me off," the Host said. 

"I changed my mind," said Dark.

He needed... he needed to be used.

He needed to give pleasure.

Was this some sort of weird aftercare thing?

... maybe.

"If you really want to," the Host said, and there was something faintly annoying about it.

"Forget what I want," said Dark. "What do _you_ want?"

"I want to make you feel good," said the Host, and Dark almost wanted to bang his head against the headboard.

"What would make me feel good would be making you feel good," said Dark.

"Make the inside of my head be quiet, and I'll do anything," said the Host, and his voice was serious.

It was also sincere.

Um.

It wasn't that the Host was ever... insincere, per se, it was just that... well, not to put too fine a point on it, he was usually detached enough that he didn't really sound invested in _anything_.

Dark had privately wondered if the Host actually felt much of anything, one way or another, and yet, here he was.

"I'll make you cum so hard you forget your own name," Dark promised the Host, and then he was kissing down the Host's chest, pushing open the Host's button down, and there was the Host’s cock, hard, trapped in fabric.

Dark nuzzled into it, mouthing the Host's cock through the Host's pants, kneading at the Host's thighs with both hands.

The Host sighed, and Dark moaned, beginning to suck it clumsily through the Host's pants, and then the Host's hands were in Dark's hair, and then Dark was opening the Host's pants, pulling the Host's pants open, mouthing at the Host's cock through the Host's boxers, and then down went the boxers.

He wrapped his mouth around the Host's cock, and he ran his tongue along the thick vein on the underside, beginning to suck.

The Host groaned, and then there was just... narration.

The Host was speaking, and he was just... describing everything that Dark was doing, and that was... Dark wasn't sure how he felt about that. 

He began to bob his head, sucking harder, and he was drooling down his chin, squeezing the Host's thighs.

Dark moaned around the cock in his mouth, and the Host shuddered from the vibrations.

The Host was moaning now, as Dark began to really... fuck himself on the Host's cock, pulling out all the stops.

He let himself be used, as the Host's narration trailed off to nothing but moaning, panting, groaning, and Dark did his best not to gloat.

There was something so... satisfying about reducing the Host down to nothing but noises. 

The Host was humping up into Dark's mouth, ,and his cock was beginning to swell, beginning to twitch, leaking more pre-cum, and okay, it was leaking down his throat, and the salt/bitterness of it was enough to make him gag, just a little bit.

The Host's hand was on the back of Dark's head, and it was gently pressing Dark's head down, so that Dark was taking it in deeper, until it was down Dark's throat, and Dark was gagging again, but it was weirdly... satisfying, to be this gross, to be this aroused.

To be causing this much pleasure. 

The Host's hips were rolling, and he was swearing, panting, sobbing.

The Host was going to cum - his cock was beginning to swell, get hotter, and Dark took pleasure in it, took pleasure in the Host's pleasure, the way Wilford had taken pleasure in his own pleasure.

... "pleasure" no longer felt like a real word anymore. 

But he was still sucking, he was just... he was here to give pleasure, and it was like with Wilford, only it wasn't, and maybe the Host was thinking too deeply about this, but his heart (or the thing he had that was almost like a heart) was beating in his head, and he began to suck some more, he flickered his tongue along the tip, he jabbed it with the very tip of his tongue.

He swallowed down the Host's cock, and he kept it in his throat, as the Host began to gasp, and then went stiff, the muscles in his belly going stiff.

The Host came in Dark's mouth, came down Dark's throat, and Dark swallowed it down, because that was what he did - he gave pleasure, and this was his reward for it.

... maybe he was a bit too invested in this right now, but fuck, his head was just a mess of two different voices shouting at each other, and it was good to quiet it down, just a little bit.

Then the Host was pulling Dark up, and they were kissing, soft and gentle.

The Host cupped Dark's cheek with one hand, thumbing Dark's cheekbone, and he was smiling at Dark, inasmuch as he could smile, without eyes.

It was a bit eerie.

"You did a good job," said the Host. 

"Thanks," said Dark, although for some reason this felt super awkward.

Oh well.

"So," said the Host, and he licked his lips, "do you... what do you need? Right now?"

"What?"

"What do you need," the Host repeated.

"In terms of...?"

"In terms of things like aftercare," said the Host, as if he was talking to someone slow.

"I gave you a blowjob," said Dark, and he tried not to roll his eyes. "It's not like I took a beating. You don't need to give me aftercare for that."

The Host shrugged.

"I don't know," he said. 

"That's not true," said Dark, and he tried not to sound too accusatory. "You know everything."

"I do and I don't," said the Host. "I know it, but I don't always... know that I know it."

Oh god.

Not this conversation again. 

"Right," said Dark, to nip it in the bud before it started again. "Of course."

"There's no shame in needing it, after what you did with Wilford," the Host added helpfully.

"Who needs aftercare for receiving a blowjob?"

Dark was downright scornful of that, although he was lying on top of the Host now, his head on the Host's chest, listening to the Host's heart beat.

There was something comforting about the familiar lub-dub.

"You mean receiving a blowjob from a madman with the face of your former friend?"

... ouch.

Dark looked up at the Host, but the Host was wearing the same expression that could best be read as serene, which kind of made Dark want to punch him.

Which was usually a sign that Dark's emotions were all acting in tandem, so, uh, at least there was that.

Hm.

Dark didn't say anything, but he stayed cuddled up to the Host longer than he usually would. 

He'd... figure something out.

Eventually.

* * *

A few days later, the Host gave Mark a blowjob.

It was a pretty nice blowjob, all things considered.

Mark had mentioned being stressed, the Host had been able to read Mark's motivations and had offered, and now... well, here he was.

The Host sucked, his hands on Mark’s hips, as Mark moaned on top of him, fingers in the Host’s hair, and the Host bobbed his head.

Mark was very easy to give pleasure to, all things considered - he was polite about it, for one thing - no hair pulling, no shoving his cock down the Host’s throat.

For another, he was always… well, nice about it. 

He asked nicely, he offered to reciprocate… it was, in general, a nice thing to do.

It was a little weird sometimes, just… blowing Mark in the living room or the hallway or the bathroom, but then again, Mark had a thing for possibly being caught.

Not that anyone would actually _care_ if they were caught, since everyone knew that everyone was fucking everyone, but still.

The Host did something flickery and intense with his tongue, and Mark convulsed against the wall, his whole body beginning to tighten.

The Host almost wished he still had eyes, so that he could watch Mark just… writhe from it.

But oh, the way that Mark was moaning and panting… that was good.

That was very good.

And then Mark was arching off of the wall, his cock almost all the way out of the Host’s mouth, and then it was back in, and the Host was sucking as hard as he could.

Mark came, right down the Host’s throat, and the Host swallowed it thickly, as it went right down his throat, and that was… ti was gross, but Mark was shuddering, still holding on.

“Fuck,” Mark said, “you’re… you’re very good at it.”

The Host smiled, and he licked his lips, catching an extra little drip of semen off of his lips.

Mark patted the Host on the head, and then he brought the Host up, and then he was letting go, looking sheepish.

“Sorry,” Mark said. “I’ve, uh… I’ve got a thing I gotta do.”

“Right,” said the Host, and he stretched, rubbing his jaw absently.

His mouth tasted horrible, and his jaw was sore, but… still.

He was, once again, surprised to run into Dark in the kitchen.

“I got you a glass of water,” Dark said, and he sounded faintly embarrassed.

Then again, Dark was usually embarrassed to express any kind of vaguely human-ish emotion, so that would make sense.

The Host bit back a grin in spite of himself, because… well, Dark was very much himself.

In some respects, he very much reminded the Host of an angsty teenager.

Admittedly, there was a lot for Dark to angst about, but still.

They were an odd bunch, weren’t they?

“Thank you,” the Host said, and he took his glass of water, drinking it carefully.

“Would you like some company at some point? Tonight, I mean.”

“Certainly,” said the Host, although where was this coming from?

Was Dark feeling some sort of urge to be friendly?

“Alright,” said Dark. “I’ll come find you.”

And then Dark was… gone.

The air smelled faintly like stale chocolate, the way it always did when Dark was doing something especially ethereal or eldritch or some other word that meant “weird” that started with an “e” that the Host didn’t know about.

The Host snorted, and he took another sip of his water.

Who knew why Dark did anything, really?

Sometimes, he suspected that even Dark didn’t know.

* * *

Dark stood outside of the big, old house, and he stared up at it.

He had died here.

Sort of.

It was complicated.

And now it wasn’t his home anymore, which was good and bad.

He… wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing here, truth be told.

All of the business with Wilford was starting to stir up old memories, or possibly something else.

He didn’t really… remember how to have feelings, at least not the way that your standard functional human being did, although he was getting better at it, to a certain extent.

But he was… what was he?

He sighed, and he was gone, in whatever the equivalent of a puff of smoke was.

* * *

The Host was not exactly expecting Dark to just show up in his bedroom, although then again, that was just… kind of what Dark did, when it came down to it.

At least he didn’t jump.

“So how has your day been?” 

The Host was trying to make polite conversation.

“Why would you ask, when you already know?”

Dark didn’t seem to be having with it.

“It unnerves people when I present them with the fact that I can know things they haven’t told me,” said the Host, as he sat down on his bed, his hands behind his head.

He gave a long, tight stretch, and he was aware, even without his eyes, that Dark was staring at him, eyeing the lines of his body.

“I’m not people,” Dark said, in what was probably a disgruntled tone of voice.

“No? It could be argued that you’re more “people” than your average person.”

The Host kept his tone mild. 

Dark snorted, and he sat down next to the Host, hip to hip and thigh to thigh. 

“Am I?”

“In certain respects, yes.”

“How would you know about that?”

“Because I know,” said the Host, which was true.

There wasn’t really a better answer than that, was there?

He leaned against Dark, because he wanted some form of company, and Dark wrapped an arm around the Host’s shoulders.

“I gave Mark a blowjob today,” the Host said, as the movie that he’d put on began to play.

“Did you?”

“Yes,” said the Host.

“Why?”

“He asked me nicely,” said the Host.

“Would you have said no if he’d asked you rudely?”

“I don’t know,” said the Host. “Mark is usually polite.”

“He’s not always polite to _me_ ,” Dark grumbled.

“Maybe if you didn’t antagonize him quite as much, he might be less likely to be rude to you,” said the Host.

“Why do you keep a television in your room, when you can’t see?”

“It helps me sleep sometimes,” said the Host. “The sound of it, I mean.”

“Does it?”

“Yes,” said the Host. “The sounds are familiar. It can remind me of before I cut my eyes out. There are a few movies that I watched so many times that I don’t even need to see them to know what’s happening in them.”

“How did you….”

The visceral disgust was rolling off of Dark like a wave, and that was… interesting. 

Hm.

“What about it bothers you?”

“You literally ,” said Dark. “There’s no way for me to not be disgusted by that.”

“You’ve killed people,” the Host pointed out.

“I didn’t kill them,” Dark demurred. “They died.”

“Due to your direct involvement.”

“It may have been due to my direct involvement,” said Dark, “but I didn’t kill them.”

That was a lie.

They both knew it was a lie.

“You did some horrible things, back when you were the Author,” Dark pointed out, and his tone was borderline accusatory.

The Host shrugged.

“That was a different person,” he said, which was true.

He wasn’t that person anymore.

He hadn’t been that person in a very long time.

“Mark likes it when I antagonize him,” said Dark. “He needs someone to yank his chain, or he gets insufferable.”

“You know who you sound like?”

“Who do I sound like?”

“Antiseptic.”

The Host didn’t have to see Dark’s face to know what his expression was.

“I’m nowhere near as obnoxious as he is,” he grumbled.

“Well, no,” said the Host, “but the both of you have a very… antagonistic relationship in regards to your creators.”

“Mark didn’t create me,” Dark said.

The Host shrugged.

Their origins were… complicated.

Very complicated.

Then Dark was leaning over and kissing the Host, his mouth hard and hot and insistent.

“Instead of talking about Mark, I’d rather you fucked me,” he told the Host.

“Why do you want me to fuck you?”

The Host already knew, obviously, but… the whole Schrodinger thing.

Sort of.

It wasn’t exactly like Schrodinger, but it was the closest that he could get to an explanation.

“Because you’re always taking it,” said Dark. “I figure it could do you some good.”

The Host nodded, because… well, how else was he supposed to respond?

It wasn’t as if Dark was… wrong, per se.

And who was the Host, if not someone to give some small modicum of comfort to someone else?

He understood what it was like to have the inside of your head constantly screaming at you, regardless as to what it was that it was screaming about.

* * *

Dark sat on the Host’s thighs, and he fingered his own ass open.

The Host was holding on to his hips, looking up at Dark with his unseeing face, and okay, it was… it was more than a little bit creepy, but at the same time, it was good, it was _very_ good, and it was enough to make Dark’s hips wriggle, his bare cock pressing against the Host’s bare belly.

The Host had insisted on taking his shirt off this time, carefully unbuttoning, and it had taken forever to get it unbuttoned, but then the Host had seemed to be pretty annoyed when Dark had ripped his shirt, last time.

So the Host just… watched, inasmuch as he watched anything, as Dark rode his own fingers.

The Host was mumbling under his breath, narrating, just quietly enough that Dark couldn’t really understand what it was that he was saying, but that was fine, that was all fine, it was all fucking _fine_ , as long as he just kept feeling it, as he kept giving himself pleasure, as long as he got closer and closer to his orgasm, already close.

And then the Host’s finger was tracing the rim of Dark’s hole, and Dark was trembling, clinging to the Host’s shirt with both hands.

He pressed his forehead to the Host’s, and he breathed on the Host’s face, chest to chest.

“Fuck,” Dark mumbled, and then they were kissing, and the Host’s lips might have been moving as he mumbled, but he was still moaning between words.

“Fuck,” the Host echoed back, and he was sliding a finger inside of Dark, as Dark’s eyes rolled back into his head, because there were four fingers in his ass, and then there were five, and he was withdrawing his own fingers, so that the Host could finger him.

He was hearing bits and pieces of the narration against his own lips - “tight” and “hot” and “velvety,” among other things, and that was enough to make his cock twitch and his insides shiver, as he began to shake.

“I’m going to fuck you,” the Host said. “I’m going to fuck you well enough that you’ll feel good. That you’ll forget.”

Dark didn’t ask what he was going to forget, and the Host didn’t elaborate, just added more fingers, until he had four inside of Dark once again, and Dark’s eyes were rolling back inside of his head, as he rode the Host’s fingers.

The Host’s fingers, which were pressed against his prostate, and it… it was building in his gut, and he was beginning to shake, his toes curling, and then his cock was twitching, and he was… he wasn’t cumming, per se, but he was having some kind of orgasm, as the warmth washed over him, left him shaking, left him bucking his hips forward.

His cock was drooling out so much pre that there was a moment of panic - had he pissed himself?

But no, it was just pre, and the Host was shifting, pulling Dark closer, and then he was withdrawing his fingers, and he was lining his cock up with Dark’s hole, and Dark was just… sinking down.

It was always interesting, in an academic sort of way, the ways that Wilford’s cock, his own cock, Mak’s cock, and all the other ego’s cocks differed.

They were all, fundamentally, the same.

Then again, everyone with a cock had more or less the same cock.

Or maybe even the same set, since theoretically, at least, everyone started out with more or less the same. 

But they were all based on one… particular pattern, which was weird to think about, and he kept grinding forward, his cock pressed against the Host’s belly, and he was squeezing the Host inside of him, and it was… it was thick and hot and heavy, it was filling him up, and it was as close to perfect as he could hope for.

He was shaking, still, and the Host was making vaguely soothing noises, which he would have been insulted by, except the Host was beginning to stroke his cock with more deliberation, and his mouth was falling open, his cock beginning to twitch in the Host’s grip.

“You feel amazing inside,” said the Host, and his voice was rough.

It had to be pretty good, if it was enough to make the Host begin to lose his voice.

Dark shuddered, and he squeezed, just to feel the Host’s breath hitch.

“I do my best,” Dark said, more to be a shit than for any other reason.

He was going to cum all over the Host’s belly, because he… he needed to, he was going to, and he was… he was going to… oh god, he was beginning to shake harder, because there were some kind of emotions washing over him, to mix with the pleasure.

Dark was crying as he came, and he would have cheerfully gutted anyone who mentioned in, but… well, fuck it.

He was going to ride the pleasure, because it was making him stupid, it was making his hips roll, it was making his eyes roll back in his head, it was making his mouth fall open, it was enough to make his whole body shake as he came and came and came.

Wow.

Fuck.

He flopped forward, as the Host held on to his hips, and then the host was fucking up into him harder, and... holy fuck, the Host was just rolling them over, and then the Host was full on fucking him into the mattress, holding on to Dark’s thighs, as Dark obligingly tilted his hips up, to make the angle easier.

The Host cried out as he came, deep inside of Dark, and there was cum smeared across their bellies, Dark’s cum, and then the Host was pulling out, to cum across Dark’s belly as well, and it was… it was disgusting, it was so disgusting, but god, it was so fucking _good_. 

He was clutching at the Host’s shoulders, and he was crying, he was crying ugly, and his nose was running, and he had his forehead pressed against the Host’s shoulder, and he was sobbing like hit was the end of the world, like his heart was breaking. 

His hearts.

If he had hearts, or a heart, or… any of that.

It was all fucking complicated.

If he listened to the Host’s chest, would he be able to hear the Host’s narration, thundering along with the Host’s heart?

Was that how the Host just… worked?

Nothing but narration and a body, doing what it could to provide comfort to other people.

That was a weird thing to think about, and Dark stopped crying, as he pondered.

The Host made a vaguely comforting noise, patting Dark on the shoulder.

“Do you… are you a part of the metanarrative trying to make things make a bit more sense?”

Dark still stumbled a bit over the word “metanarrative,” because it was a complicated idea, but… well, fuck it.

If he was going to cry on the Host, he might as well be honest about other shit, right?

“Possibly,” said the Host. “I don’t really know who I was put here, just what I was put here to do.”

“Who put you here, do you think?”

The Host shrugged, and his cock was pressed against Dark’s thigh, still a tiny bit hard.

“I try not to think about that too hard.”

“Why?”

“Because if I fall down that rabbit hole, I may end up dying, as I just lie there contemplating existence.”

“You think so?”

“Oh yes,” said the Host. “I am… I am aware of the currents that push us - the way that the paragraphs and sentences start and stop, the way they continue or trail off… but I can’t be too aware of them. If I lose myself in it… well….”

He gave another shrug.

“Right,” said Dark, although he wasn’t entirely sure he understood.

It was all a bit strange to him, but then again, he didn’t entirely understand how the Host worked in the first place.

Nobody did, not even Mark.

“I’m glad that I’m here,” the Host said, unexpectedly.

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” said the Host. “I appreciate the company.”

“I… I do too,” said Dark, although that was an embarrassing thing to say.

... sort of.

He kissed the Host, because he was legitimately worried about saying something stupid.

He had a bad habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong moment, and he didn’t want to add to it.

He sighed, kissing the Host, and the Host kissed him back. 

* * *

They fell asleep together, although the Host woke up to an empty bed.

Dark could only take so much affection, which did make sense - as much as the Host appreciated Dark, appreciated giving Dark some kind of comfort - it was nice to have some space without Dark taking up space inside of his head.

Dark could be like a metal ball on the rubber sheet that was the Host’s consciousness.

The Host took a shower, washing everything, and then he went about his day.

He could still, faintly, smell Dark’s cologne, and the stale chocolate scent of whatever it was that made him himself.

The Host was honestly curious about what made all of that do… well, all of that, but he didn’t know how to politely breach the subject.

He came out of the shower, toweling his hair dry, without his bandages.

Sometimes he wished that he could still see his own face - he wanted to know what he looked like, without his eyes.

Oh well.

He tied the clean bandage up around his eyes, carefully, and then he was getting dressed.

Time for another day, doing whatever it was that he was going to do. 

* * *

It was a few days after Dark had cried on the Host, and he wasn’t entirely sure what it was that he was feeling.

Not that he was usually… in touch with his own emotions, as such, but still.

He was having some kind of feelings about _something_ , and he didn’t know what they were, except that they were crawling around under his skin like so many ants.

He put his hands behind his head, leaning back into the couch, and he stared at the ceiling.

He probably could have drawn out the cracks, or any of the stains.

He was… elsewhere, or maybe a little to the left of himself.

He didn’t know how else to describe it, exactly.

He was having some kind of feelings, as his disparate emotions churned away inside of him, like the world’s worst case of an upset stomach.

And then Wilford was there.

Just like that, Wilford was just standing there, wearing an expression that was… unreadable.

It was Wilford being… well, himself, which always set Dark on edge, inasmuch as he could be set on edge.

“Yes?”

“I say, old chum,” said Wilford, and he was looking remarkably… keen, “when was the last time you fucked me?”

“I fucked your face a few nights ago,” said Dark.

“Yes, yes, but I mean a well and proper _fucking_ ,” said Wilford. “The kind of fucking where I can’t use my legs afterwards.”

Dark raised an eyebrow, his expression sardonic. 

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to fuck me so hard I forget my sweet mother’s name,” said Wilford, in that dissonant voice of his.

Dark paused.

He still remembered Wilford’s mother’s name.

There was something painful about the fact that he could remember that, but Wilford couldn’t.

Um.

“How do you want me to fuck you, Wilford?”

“I want you to fuck me like you hate me,” said Wilford.

“Well,” said Dark, and he stood up, rubbing his hands together, his expression as close to devious as he could get it when he was feeling this level of disconnected, “I live to please.”

“No you don’t,” said Wilford, and he was pulling Dark closer to him, so that they were chest to chest, forehead to forehead. “Far from it.”

Dark snorted, and he kissed Wilford, to shut Wilford up, because he could only take so much babbling from a madman in one sitting.

Or standing, as it were.

He tangled his fingers in Wilford’s hair, and he used his tongue and his lips and his teeth, working Wilford up, getting Wilford even more worked up, although part of it felt a bit pointless - Wilford had been raring to go and horny from the get go.

Dark bent Wilford over the couch, and he grabbed a handful of Wilford’s ass, squeezing it hard enough that Wilford moaned.

“Hit me,” Wilford said.

Dark obliged, drawing his hand back and slapping Wilford on the ass.

“Harder than that.”

Another hit, harder this time.

Wilford moaned like his cock was being sucked (Dark would know that sound anywhere), and then he was grinding against Dark.

“You’re already so hard for me,” Wilford mumbled, and he was moaning harder, pressing down against him, spreading his legs wider.

Dark shoved Wilford’s pants down, and he slapped Wilford’s ass again, because he could, because he knew it would get Wilford that much more worked up, as Wilford ground back against it.

Wilford was panting, and his back was arched.

He wasn’t wearing any shoes, and his bare toes were curling in the carpet.

He moaned obscenely when Dark got down, as Dark breathed against his ass.

Dark held Wilford’s ass open, and he began to lick Wilford’s hole.

Wilford shuddered, going stock still, and he was moaning.

Dark made an amused, aroused noise, and he began to fuck Wilford open with his tongue, sucking and drooling down his chin, sloppy and awkward. 

Wilford’s hips were bucking, which made it… well, a little bit harder, which was a tad annoying, but it was worth it, just to feel Wilford shuddering and shaking against him, cock bobbing.

He could probably make Wilford cum like this, when he thought about it.

He kept drooling and licking, kept fucking Wilford open, and Wilford was sobbing now, and making desperate little noises.

He was… he was begging.

“Please. Please, I need it, I need your cock, give me your cock, give it to me, I need your cock, please!”

“I’m not… we don’t have any lube,” said Dark.

“It’s fine,” said Wilford. “I can take it.”

“If you’re sure,” said Dark, although he was already standing up, dropping his own pants, wrapping his hand around his dripping cock.

It was already drooling pre, and he used a hand to spread it along his shaft, beginning to shake, just a bit.

He put his hands on Wilford’s hips, angling, and he guided his cock in carefully with the other.

It was at least a little bit slippery from his licking - he spat, just to make sure that it would be a little wetter, and okay, so it wasn’t the best lube, but there was something almost delicious about the pull and drag of this.

He shuddered and he pushed himself in, breaching that ring of muscle, and then he was just… inside.

Fuck.

He was all the way inside, and Wilford’s ass was pulsing around him, in time with Wilford’s heartbeat.

“Fuck,” Wilford said, and his ass flexed around Dark’s cock.

Dark drew his hips back, then pushed them forward, his cock flexing inside of Dark.

“Is this what you wanted?”

Dark’s voice was rough, and then he was leaning in, grabbing Wilford by the throat, pulling Wilford closer to him, so that they were pressed close together, chest to chest. 

“Yes,” Wilford said, and his voice sounded lucid. 

“You wanted my fat cock, splitting you in half?”

Dark pulled his hips back, and he began to fuck Wilford in earnest - proper fucking, deep and hard, and okay, it was… it was a little uncomfortable, without lube, but holy fuck, did it feel good.

It was amazing, to have all this tight heat wrapped around him, leaving his whole body on edge and tingling.

His toes were curling, and he was holding on tightly enough to Wilford’s hips that Wilford would probably be bruised.

Oh well.

Wilford’s shirt was sweaty, sticking to Wilford’s back, and Dark was kissing along Wilford’s neck, then biting, hard enough that Wilford shuddered around him, against him.

Wilford was groaning, holding on tightly, humping back, and Wilford gasped, as Dark’s hand came around, to squeeze his cock.

“You’re so hard for it, you’re leaking,” Dark said, right in Wilford’s ear.

They were exactly the same height, which made this a little weird, but… well, by now, Dark was almost used to it.

“You’re so hard for me you’re in my ass,” said Wilford, and he was laughing, which was another ripple of squeezing around Dark’s cock, and Dark groaned like he was in pain, pressing his hips further forward, beginning to fuck in earnest.

The slap of their skin hitting together was very loud in the living room, and there were wet noises, as Dark jerked Wilford off, as Wilford sobbed.

Wilford… seemed to be having some kind of human emotion, something beyond his madness, and that was… well, truth be told, it was more than a bit unsettling, but these sorts of things tended to be unsettling, and Dark wasn’t going to think too deeply into it, he was just going to keep fucking, he was going to give pleasure.

Dark was nothing but a dildo right now, a dildo with some emotional significance to the person who he was fucking, but he could live with that.

He’d be willing to be a dildo for Wilford, at least in theory.

It wasn’t like Wilford really saw people as… people, anyway.

Dark didn’t either, entirely, in fairness.

It was all complicated.

Dark kept his face in Wilford’s neck, and he spend his hips up, beginning to fuck in earnest, and he was shaking, breathing heavily, and he was jerking Wilford faster, jerking Wilford fast enough that Wilford was beginning to go stiff, beginning to tighten up around Dark’s cock.

Dark moaned into Wilford’s neck, made a bunch of noises, let them just run over him, let it all wash over him, and then he was cumming.

He was cumming inside of Wilford, in a gush of wetness and arousal, as it trickled down Wilford’s leg, and then Wilford was beginning to tense up again, and Wilford was cumming across Dark’s hand, and it was wet and sticky, over Dark’s knuckles, and okay, it was gross, but also… fuck.

And then Wilford was gone.

Wilford was full on gone.

Dark was just… standing there, his dick dripping cum, and it was gooey, it was lonely.

He took a deep breath, and he pulled his pants up, buckling his pants back up.

Okay.

There were an awful lot of feelings twisting around in his gut like a worm on a hook. 

He was going to have to deal with those at some point.

But right now was not "some point," so he could just ignore it right now.

* * * 

The Host was sitting in the backyard, and he was staring at the sky.

The sun was warm on his face, and it helped him relax, in a way that he couldn't entirely explain.

There wasn't much narrative, as far as the sun was concerned. 

It was just the sun.

It had been born, it would someday die, until then, he didn't have to worry about it.

And then there was a sound near him, and he glanced over.

It was Googleplier.

Being around Google was a bit like being next to a city grid - things would always go down a logical way, because Google was logical. 

It made sense - of course it made sense - but it could still be a bit... daunting.

"Hello," said the Host.

"Hello," said Google. 

"Are you admiring the scenery?"

"Something like that," said Google.

He (and Google would always be a "he," and not an "it," because he had too much of a face and a personality to be an "it") sat down next to the Host. 

"Do you want something from me?"

"I'm not sure," said Google. "What are you offering?"

"I'm offering whatever you'd like, as long as it doesn't cause gross bodily harm," said the Host.

"There are many things that I could ask of you, that wouldn't cause any sort of bodily harm," said Google, and then his hand was on the Host's leg, and the Host bit back a bit of a grin.

Google had never been exactly... subtle.

"Would you like some kind of physical affection?"

"I think I would, yes," said Google.

He didn't even sound surprised that the Host knew that, but then again, Google was hard to spook in that regard.

Maybe because he was used to having programming, which probably worked similarly to the Host's own strange... whatever it was.

It wasn't _exactly_ magic, but then again, it also wasn't... not magic.

Whatever the opposite of magic was.

Regardless, Google was standing up, and then he was taking the Host's hand in his own, pressing it between his legs.

Google was a bit of an odd one out.

The whole "pleasure" thing was a recent development; he knew how to take pleasure, but he had only recently decided to try the things that everyone else did.

Naturally, he went to the Host, because everyone went to the Host.

And now the Host was having his head carefully guided forward, and he was nuzzling at Google's crotch through Google's pants - it was a bit like nuzzled his face into a dildo, considering how there wasn't much in the way of... heat.

Google moaned, a slightly mechanical sound, and then he was undoing his pants, and he was guiding the Host's mouth forward.

The Host opened his mouth, and he took Google's cock into his mouth, sucking on it carefully.

Google moaned, and his hands were in the Host's hair, his hips rolling forward.

It was a remarkably sterile affair, all things considered - Google's cock really _was_ like a dildo - one of those fancy dildos that could squirt when you wanted it to, but still not made of meat the way most people's bodies were.

He bobbed his head carefully, and he sucked on it, his tongue doing things that most people found appealing, and Google dutifully moaned and writhed.

It always felt a little bit like some kind of performance - he was sucking on a hunk of silicone, it was giving pleasure, which was good, but he almost wished he could see it - maybe have someone watching them do it in the first place.

Google always seemed to be slightly performative as he received pleasure, as if he wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to take it.

There was almost a level of... self consciousness, which was an odd thing to think about when it came to Google, but then again, Google didn't do anything normally, did he?

The Host began to bob his head in earnest, as Google began to moan harder.

Anyone who looked over the fence would have seen them, although nobody ever really lived around here, thankfully.

That would have been... awkward.

Not that the Host was usually bothered by awkward.

After you've cut the eyes out of your own head, what's a little bit of awkward?

He let his face be fucked, as Google held on to the sides of his head, hips moving.

He was going to gag, if he wasn't careful, but he would probably be okay.

... hopefully.

And then Google was pulling back, panting, and the Host turned his face up towards where he thought Google's face was.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

"I wish to cum in your mouth," said Google.

The Host bit back a smile.

Google was very polite about that - maybe he'd read a how to guide on how to take a blowjob or something.

Those had to exist, didn't they?

Of course they did.

"Of course," said the Host. "You have my permission."

And the cock was back in the Host's mouth.

The cock was back in the Host's mouth, and he was swallowing around it, letting his face be fucked, letting himself be used, as the narration in his head got repetitive, in an almost calming sort of way.

He drooled around Google's cock, as it began to pulse in his mouth, pulse like some kind of engine, and then Google was going very stiff, his cock twitching, and Google was cumming into the Host's mouth.

It was... well, it was body safe.

It was kind of gross, no two ways about it, but he swallowed it, even though he found it gross, because what else was he going to do with it?

He let Google pull out, and he licked his lips, turning his face up towards Google's face, or where he thought Google's face was.

Google patted him on the cheek, and then there were rustling noises, presumably as Google put his cock away.

"Thank you," Google said.

"You're welcome," said the Host, although this whole encounter was taking on a degree of surreality that made it hard not to stop laughing.

Then there was the quiet "whir" of servos, and Google was going off to do... whatever it was that he did when he was on his own.

The Host lay back, his hands behind his head, his mouth still tasting like the faintly flavored lube, and he turned his face up towards the sky, to enjoy the warmth of the sun on his face.

* * * 

Dark found the Host sitting in the backyard, lying back in the grass.

The Host's face was a mess of drool and... something, which looked suspiciously like drool.

"What did you do to yourself?"

Dark's voice was gruff, as he sat down next to the Host.

He could see the Host's lips move as he mumbled his endless narration, and he realized, with some surprise, that it didn't really spook him anymore.

Huh.

Go figure.

"I didn't do anything to myself," the Host said, his tone mild. "I was done to."

"Well, what was done to you?"

"Google fucked my face," said the Host.

"He's really been enjoying all of that stuff, hasn't he?"

Dark wasn't sure why he was so surprised - he'd been used to the robot being more... well, like something out of a certain flavor of movie.

Admittedly, Google was still acting like something out of a certain flavor of movie.

It was just a different flavor now.

"Evidently," said the Host, his tone as dry as bones.

"Does it ever bother you, that everyone uses us?" 

"Does it bother you?"

Dark shrugged. 

"It's nice to be needed," he said, and he was aware of how awkward that sounded.

He concentrated on wiping all of the mess off of the Host's face.

"Right," said the Host.

"Why do you like it?"

"I like how it quiets down my head," said the Host. "And I suppose I like being reminded that I'm not entirely repulsive."

"I don't find you repulsive," Dark said, which was about as close to affectionate as he could get these days.

"I do appreciate it," said the Host, and he reached out to pat Dark on the hand.

Dark let him, even though a lot of him was screaming not to accept it.

But fuck it.

"I miss... who I was," Dark said, unexpectedly.

"Do you?"

The Host's voice was gentle, unassuming.

From anyone else, Dark might have taken it as some kind of insult.

From the Host, it was almost... nice.

"Yeah," said Dark. 

In a weird way, it helped that the Host didn't have any eyes.

No awkward eye contact to worry about.

"Do you remember who you were?"

"I remember some of it," said Dark. "I remember... flashes. Flashes like flashes of memory."

"Right."

"I miss it." 

"I'm sorry."

"But there are advantages to all of this, I suppose," said Dark.

He was looking sidelong at the Host.

The Host was still turning his face up towards the sky, and the sun was casting interesting shadows across his face.

They all had nice faces - even the Host, with the bloody bandage across his eyes, had some kind of... aesthetic appeal.

Aesthetic in the original sense of the word - he looked a bit like some kind of saint out of an old painting. All he needed was a halo, and maybe some kind of animal companion looking up at him with a baleful expression.

Animals in paintings of saints always had faintly baleful expressions.

When Dark had first... gotten involved in this whole mess, he had been curious to see if he was bothered by things like crucifixes, or any other holy symbols.

He had gone off to churches, standing in the lovely, jeweled light of stained glass windows, and nothing had happened whatsoever. 

He had looked at a lot of iconography of saints - had briefly considered that maybe _he_ had become a saint - and then dismissed it all, to walk out again.

This was all too... strange to have anything to do with any of that business.

But the Host....

"I couldn't be a saint," said the Host.

That gave Dark a bit of a shiver, because... well, for all that he knew of the Host's powers, it was still a tad eerie. 

Having someone just able to pick something out of your mind like that is always a tad creepy.

"No?"

"I don't meet a lot of the criteria," said the Host. 

"You're mauled," Dark pointed out, and maybe he could have put that a bit better, but he'd never been the best at saying the right words at the right time.

... at least, when it came to things like empathy.

Manipulation, he was excellent at.

"There are plenty of mauled people in the world who aren't saints," said the Host.

"Would you want to be a saint?"

"I don't think so," said the Host. "Although I have thought about the prophets."

"What's the difference between a saint and a prophet?"

"One of them does a great thing via a miracle, one of them speaks directly to a higher power," said the Host.

"You think you speak to a higher power?"

"Inasmuch as there is a higher power, maybe," said the Host, and then he shrugged. "I don't know. I know this ability has... some kind of implication, but I don't know what it is. I know I can do it, but that's about it."

The Host sounded... genuinely upset now, and Dark reached out, squeezing the Host's hand. 

He still wasn’t very good at the whole… empathy thing, but he could, at the very least, work on appearing empathic.

A lot of this stuff was about performing it. 

He knew that the Host probably knew about that - knew about his feelings on the matter, versus his actions - but him doing it had to be worth something, right?

He cleared his throat, but he kept holding on to the Host’s hand, because… well, what else was he going to do?

It wasn’t like he was going to leave the Host alone.

The both of them were the creepy weirdos of the egos, and they didn’t have madness to comfort them, the way that Wilford did. 

They’d have to make do with each other.

* * * 

The Host knocked on Dark’s door, and then walked in, when he didn’t get told to go away.

Dark was sitting in the room with no light on.

“Why are you here?”

Dark’s voice was harsh.

“I could hear you through the narrative,” said the Host, because he could.

It was a complicated sort of “hear,” to be sure, but it was still hearbale.

It was the closest he could come to describing the sensation, at any rate.

“Do you miss who you were?”

Dark’s voice was carrying… some kind of emotion.

The Host wasn’t sure what it was, but he wasn’t always the best at describing the hard to describe.

“Who I was… was kind of an asshole,” said the Host, and he was grinning, just a bit. “I mean, I sometimes miss… the things that came with it.”

_I miss when I didn’t have an undercurrent of knowledge running under my thoughts. I miss when I wasn’t half crazy with all of the things that I just know, without knowing how I know them. I miss my eyes. I miss my writing._

“I miss… I don’t know,” Dark said, and he gave a sigh that could best be described as baleful.

“You’d make a good saint yourself, you know,” said the Host.

Dark snorted.

“I’m no saint,” Dark said, and he sounded something close to amused. 

“You don’t necessarily have to be moral to be a saint,” the Host countered. “Some of the early saints were… something.”

“What kind of something?”

“One saint of the highlands charmed all of the vermin out of her family’s grain store, and sent them into the grain stores of her family’s enemies.”

That startled a laugh out of Dark.

“Maybe I do have a chance, then,” he said.

“I think the rules might have been more lenient in those days, admittedly,” said the Host. “Things were… simpler in those days.”

“Do you ever think that we should have been back then?”

The Host turned his face towards Dark, the closest he could get to giving someone the side eye.

“What do you mean?”

“You could have been right at home in the old days,” said Dark. “When there were oracles. You could sit in a temple somewhere and give prophecy.”

The Host snorted.

“It wouldn’t work like that,” he said. 

“And how do you know that?”

“The way I used to know things,” the Host said, and his voice was surprisingly sad. “I used to learn things by reading them.”

Dark… patted the Host on the leg.

“I wouldn’t have done much better,” he told the Host.

The Host shrugged.

“You’d make a good saint, like I said. You’ve done some miraculous things.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a saint.”

“No?”

“I’ve got too many interesting things to do, to be a saint,” said Dark, and there was a sort of danger dripping off of those words.

Dark was… well, no two ways about it, Dark was dangerous.

He wasn’t dangerous to the Host, specifically, but… he was dangerous.

There were red promises in those words, although the Host wasn’t sure what they were - too far in the future, too nebulous at present. 

That was, however, a problem for another time.

The Host sighed, and he let the air fill his lungs.

Then he pressed closer to Dark, so that they were hip to hip in the small, dark room, and he put a hand on Dark’s leg.

“Please tell me what you’re thinking,” the Host said, his voice quiet.

“Why are you asking me? You already know what I’m thinking.”

“As I’ve said before,” said the Host, “I can know what you’re thinking, but also want to hear you say it.”

“Right,” said Dark. “Well… I’m thinking about how I’m not going to go anywhere, for now. I’m more or less content. I’ll deal with… everything else, when I get to the point of it, but for now….”

“For now?”

“For now, I think I’ll stay here,” said Dark.

The _with you_ wasn’t stated, but the Host could feel it on the very end of Dark’s tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic?
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Come talk to me on my tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com!


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